Feathered Soul Revisited
by Saedusk
Summary: Sometimes it's hard to control emotions. When they flare out of control, punishment is necessary. But even in the confines of the Abbey, it's possible to love and save and lose. YuBo
1. Perfectionism

I thought I was leaving , but I guess I just couldn't stay away. I've got a better timeline for this story than I've ever had for my others. I'm hoping that means I'll actually be able to update this in a timely manner and not get discouraged and decide to leave again. Wish me luck.

This is a revisit of my very first posted fanfic, _Searching for Your Feathered Soul_. Much better, I think. As it's predecessor, this fic is Yuriy's POV.

Glad to be back (tentatively). Thanks for having me. :3

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**(Searching for Your) ****. . . Feathered Soul Revisited**

**Chapter One: Perfectionism**

"Shoot."

I watched as their trained arms moved back in unison. It was mechanic, but certainly not perfect. There was a time, quite a while ago, that I would've wondered what they were thinking as their shooters zipped through empty launchers. But I knew better now than to bother.

There was no thinking, there was no feeling, there was only the sharp sensation of necessity. Questioning something was as pointless as straightforward resistance. Neither would lead to anything here.

I watched with patience as our leader walked down the line, inspecting the incomers as if they were cattle. Some of them had unsteady hands as they pushed the shooter back into the plastic training launcher. Many of them would never graduate to the real thing. I understood that fact completely.

"Shoot."

Again, they listened and obeyed, the older of the group having little trouble. But there were two young boys, picked up only yesterday, that seemed to waver under the constant repetition. I shifted, one of my arms falling to my side. But it quickly rejoined the other crossed behind my back.

Our leader moved to the boys, his face looking as cold as it always had. I knew they could sense his sheer disapproval by the looks on their faces. Before I could contemplate on it further, each was led in an opposite direction by a particularly surly looking set of guards. They probably wouldn't be back to the training room again.

Perfection.

It's a fleeting, impossible thing, isn't it?

I turn away, my eyes closing. From across the room I knew he was watching me now, expecting me to look again. That was my job, after all. When I wasn't training I was observing. Observing the lowly cattle that could never hope to be my peer. I needed this so I could keep going. I opened my eyes and watched.

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Short. Guess it could be considered more like a prologue.


	2. Mine

Chapter two, yaaay~ Thanks very much to my first reviewer for the encouragement. To answer your question, I can only imagine that my writing improved because I roleplay so much. I haven't written another fanfic in nearly a year. o3o

-Insert standard disclaimer here- Forgot it last time, but I feel like it's a little redundant. We all know the drill, so this is probably the last time you'll see it.

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**(Searching for Your) . . . Feathered Soul Revisited**

**Chapter Two: Mine**

I was awake again and watching. Morning role had been uneventful and Boris was with me now, standing at my side and watching with very, very feigned interest. I knew he didn't want to be here, but rather off training with the others, which I would have joined an hour or so later.

But each Neo-Borg member had to take their turn at my side once a month to observe those who would never reach us. But that was not all. They also had to be reminded, as I stood completely unmoving and passive beside them, that I was even better than them, better than what the lowly cattle couldn't even achieve.

I couldn't remember if our leader had decided that through his actions or if I had just made it up to make myself feel better.

"Shoot."

My eyes drifted from the multiple lines of aspiring children and over to my pale teammate. It was obvious he knew, since his own gaze snapped momentarily to mine, then back again, signaling he didn't want my attention.

Regardless of his opinion, I continued to stare from the corner of my eye. I could see his expression steeling, lips turning down in an unhappy way. Finally, he humored me and turned his head.

"What?"

"Shoot- Boris."

Our leader never snapped at me that way. My own lips threatened to curl up in a smirk, though I held it mostly back. Boris fixed me with an agitated look for a moment longer before returning his gaze to the front. I thought maybe he expected I did that just to get him in trouble.

"Shoot."

Before I could fully wrap my thoughts with the training cattle again, I heard Boris scoff. One of the trainees had done something wrong, I could only assume, as a guard was now handling a boy rather roughly. This guard looked very similar to the one from yesterday and I wondered shortly if it was the same person.

Unlike the children from yesterday, though, this one didn't seem interested in being taken. He struggled against the force, crying something about another chance. In this place, second chances were rare.

And yet-

"Boris."

My teammate stood straighter beside me.

"Sir?"

Waving a hand, our leader beckoned him to the training floor. He moved without hesitation.

"A battle," he started, his voice sounding strangely mirthful. I could only describe it as unfortunate. "If you really think you're good enough to be here..." I could almost see him eyeing the young trainee with sick pleasure behind the mask he was wearing today. "... you should be able to win."

There was no time to recant his cries before a bey was shoved unceremoniously into the trainee's hands. The look in his eyes made me think he had never handled one in his life. Actually, that could be true.

"To the stadium." I followed the line of our leader's pointing finger across the room and to the large dish at the farthest wall. The trainee stadiums were hardly on par with the team's, but that was to be expected.

A new set of guards moved to usher the rebel across, but I was uninterested. Instead, my eyes followed Boris as he moved two steps behind our leader and towards the playing field. I didn't doubt he would win in the slightest.

In fact, I blinked. I barely had time to open my eyes at the sharp cracking my ears heard. In seconds, it seemed, the rebel's bey was shattered into uncountable fragments. Good thing it was completely expendable.

Boris made no move from his position atop the dish yet. It was unwise, we both knew, to do even the smallest things without permission.

And for a moment I wondered why our leader hadn't let the other trainees gather around to witness their former 'friend's' defeat. I guess it would have been pointless to move so many for such a short display.

"Take him away."

The boy didn't put up so much resistance this time. His movements were scared, from what I could see across the room. Bowing my head, I closed my eyes. And I swear I could feel our leader's upturned lips burning into the outside of my eyelids.

I could hear footsteps echoing. The sounds hit the walls closer to me as our leader moved back to the rows of cattle.

"Shoot."

The cycle continued as if there had never been a disturbance. When Boris moved back to my side, I finally opened my eyes, but this time they remained stuck on the trainees. Eventually our leader left them to the devices of a group of grinning guards and made his way towards us. It was time to join Sergei and Ivan and before he could say anything, I moved to leave.

"I expect better next time." What? Turning back, I was fairly surprised to see our leader with his mask already off and a hard, lecturing expression as he stared down at Boris. My teammate remained quiet.

I watched idly, unsure. That battle was the only thing I imagined he could be talking about. It had been quick, so I had missed it. I couldn't imagine what had been wrong with it. But I was sure it had not been perfect. So it wasn't too off to think that our leader would have something to say.

A moment later, Boris nodded slowly and our leader's hand lifted to rest on his shoulder. We both knew it wasn't meant for comfort. I could see crooked fingers beginning to clasp down, even through my teammate's heavy vest. His arm shifted, nothing more, but I was sure our leader's thumb was digging sharply against bone.

I felt my eye twitch. I suddenly wanted Boris to say something, to argue. I knew he wouldn't, but-

I was close to them now, my arm raised. I could see it, hanging in the air beside me as my mind worked to catch up. They were mine, this team. We should have gotten past this already and I- I didn't want him touching Boris.

I wanted to tell this to our false leader: he should understand his place.

I pulled back and punched Bolkov in the face.

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I swear these things feel longer when I'm writing them in Word.


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